Mother Of Dead Cairo Reporter Publishes Gut-Wrenching Final Text Messages
Her mother Sabreen Mangoud, published the last few text messages she shared with her daughter on Facebook.
They are incredibly difficult to read.
06:19 am
Mother: Habiba, what’s going on there? I went to sleep at 1:30, that’s 11:30 your time. What’s with the attack? Tell me.
Habiba: The army and the police are indeed moving around the gates. The media centre was turned into a field hospital and the square is on high alert.
Mother: Where are you?
Habiba: Only journalists were allowed to remain in the building. I’m supposed to cover the monument in case the battle starts.
Mother: The monument is a bit far from Rabia.
Habiba: Field security is at every gate now. I am in the media centre. It isn’t far at all in fact, and the door is big and it can be broken through easily.
Mother: Are there too many police and army troops?
Habiba: Yes, but their movements could also be a “nerve war” tactic.
Mother: How will you get to the monument?
Habiba: I will walk like everybody else, or run. It depends on the situation.
Mother: God help us.
07:33
Mother: What’s new?
Habiba: Foreign reporters just got to the centre.
Mother: I mean what’s new with the crowds? How are you doing?
Habiba: I took three kinds of medication. It’s very cold here and I’m shivering. The crowds are massive and on high alert. Pray for us, mother.
Mother: God, keep us steadfast and give us power. God, grant us power over their necks. I entrust you to God the Almighty.
Habiba: I’m heading to the platform in a little while. There are tanks there.
Mother: God grant us steadfastness. God grant us victory. This is what I wrote on my page: God, I entrust to you all my brothers and sisters, sons and daughters in Rabia and Al Nahda, and all those who are protesting across Egypt. God I entrust to you with my husband Ahmed and my daughter Habiba. May we not be bereaved over any of them. God empower them and support them and keep them steadfast at the moment of encounter today.
12:46pm
Mother: Habiba, please reassure me. I’ve called thousands of times. Please, my darling, I’m worried sick. Tell me how you are.